


Witchfell

by Luna_Sin_Sin



Category: Underfell - Fandom, Undertale
Genre: @Eli-Sin-G, A Witch Universe, Gaster Blasters As Demonic Pets, Give Them What They Want, Inspired By, M/M, Perhaps Part of a Witchtale Series?, Sans In A Dress, Witchsonas, Work In Progress, hell yeah, underfrick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9603284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Sin_Sin/pseuds/Luna_Sin_Sin
Summary: Y’know, Sans thought himself an okay witch: he could communicate with the dead – was haunted by a particularly possessive spirit from him his past, and he could conjure up demons: albeit demons who behaved more like a rambunctious pack of hyenas than actual demons… Hell, even living in the marshes was okay. It was secluded from witch-burning humans, and well, the only humans who ever visited were idiotic kids or careless travelers, and he’d laugh for weeks giving them all a hell of a scare…Or so he thought.Who knew one mangled, desperate, fear-stricken, and panic-induced incantation would accidentally call forth a General of the Underground and bind his soul to a demon. Technically though, the demon was supposed to be his to command……but no one sure as hell told the demon that.(recent editing and new chapter coming soon)





	1. The Lonely Witch

**Author's Note:**

> Luna-Sin-Sin here with a quick tidbit. Sans' dress theme was heavily inspired by this picture, though with a color scheme of black, light red, and dark red in mind, for anyone who might be curious what his dress looks like in this fic. 
> 
> http://www.karnival-house.co.uk/images/products/black-widow-costume---adult-halloween-costumes-PVso.jpg
> 
> Witches and demons are awesome. Inspired by @Eli-Sin-G, and their ask for witchsonas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @hanamiisway made me beautiful fanart of my blasters!  
> https://hanamiisway.tumblr.com/post/160307769299/so-i-started-to-read-luna-sin-sin-s-witchfell  
> But make sure to check out their blog @hanamii-art as that's the one they're using right now!  
>  
> 
> Sans’ dress theme was heavily inspired by the picture link below, though with the color scheme of light blue replaced with a red-violet for anyone who might be curious what his dress looks like in this fic.  
> http://www.karnival-house.co.uk/images/products/black-widow-costume—adult-halloween-costumes-PVso.jpg

 

        “It’s a beautiful night outside… Cicadas are chirping…  Foxfires are glowing… On nights like these, kids like you… SHOULD BE BURNING IN THE UNDERGROUND.”

         The twin Gaster Blasters rose from the swamp canals with their maws gaping full of sludge and foliage, violet blood-red astral fog emanating from the back of their throat and eyes.

         The terrified duo of humans screamed. The man shoved his girlfriend aside, and with an even more shriller screech, she tumbled down into the weeds and water below. The man didn’t turn back at her call for help and ran even faster, swerving around fallen trees and overgrowth and falling flat on his face when he slipped on a mushroom, before dragging himself forward and then running again. The third Blaster, which had been hovering up high, soared after the fleeing man with a thrumming hum echoing from his throat, a tightly clutched stake in its teeth.

          The woman, tangled with vines and having to crawl her way back up the muddy bank with her nails, took one look at the Blasters approaching her and screamed so deafeningly they both jolted back, as if stunned. Then, as if seeing her cry as a challenge, threw their heads back and howled with such spirit beams of red light shot from their mouths and blasted into the tree tops above.

          The woman got to her feet and ran for all she was worth after her boyfriend, crying, “Harold, HAROLD HELP ME!” She was so terrified that when the third Blaster flew past her on its way back, not even a foot away from her, she didn’t even notice it in her blind panic.

          From behind his tree, Sans changed his hands from cupping his voice to now covering his mouth and shook silently, desperately holding still…

          _Ten…_

_Nine…_

_Eight…_

          He couldn’t hold it in any longer, he threw his head back and started howling with laughter, clutching his ribs and downright sputtering.

          “Oh my stardust… My ribs…. Ahaha, did you see their faces!?”

           Gaster – Ever Present Tag-Along Spirit from the Void – didn’t bother to glance back at him, more enraptured by watching the bio-luminescent light of a nearby foxfire. Not wanting his mood to be spoiled, Sans grabbed the frayed ends of his dress and hiked it up as he stepped around the tree and its slippery moss covered roots, the soft ground squishing lightly against his legging clad bones.

           His Blasters had gathered at his laughter, already having forgotten about their momentarily sadness that yet again their new ‘playmates’ had abandoned them. Toado – the largest and helicopter sibling of the other two – approached him with a head covered in swampland fauna and mushrooms - where like his name suggested - lived a frog that always perched on his head. Toado slowly nuzzled up to his hands, eager at the thought of pets.

            Still snorting with laughter, Sans stroked his lesser demon’s skull as the other two approached as well. One of Fetcho’s many pointy sticks caught on his dress as he nuzzled closer, tearing another slash into it.

            _Haah… Another seam to patch later._

            He reached down and pulled it out from the dress, pressing his thumb tightly against the pointed end before it snapped. He raised his fingers and knocked against Fetcho’s snout as he chided, “No pointy ones, remember? I don’t got anythin’ else to wear.”

            Fetcho hardly seemed abashed, all too aware Sans had touched his stick and was eagerly waiting for Sans to throw it. Knowing this Blaster demon was prone to tackling when excited like he did, Sans reached down and retrieved an entirely different stick to throw. Lastly, Nono headbutted his shoulder, demanding his attention greedily. He started snapping at the more shredded ends of his dress with his razor sharp teeth, making Sans slap his snout.

           “Behave, rascal. No. We don’t chew on me. We talked about this.”

            Even the Blasters acting up couldn’t keep his good move down. He gripped the stick and raised it over head, swinging it above him wildly before flinging it off into the forest beyond. Fetcho and Nono took off after it like bats out of the Underground, but Toado ignored it entirely to go back to the canal and settle back down into the murky waters, resting comfortably into the mud and nearly vanishing into the environment like the gator-goat Blaster he was.

             Sans took a moment to just appreciation things again. The crickets, the moggy air – the sound of Fetcho retrieving several sticks only for them to crack and splinter as Nono tackled him from above… The sound of frogs chirping on and inside of Toado…

              …and as he listened closely he could no longer hear the humans who had so carelessly and stupidly traveled into his marsh.

              Life was good.

              He put his hands together and cracked them over his head, sharp toothed grin showing how incredibly pleased he was with himself. Nothing could ruin his mood.

              “You should have killed them.”

              _Welp… Almost anything_.

              He didn’t bother to turn back and look at Gaster, sure the spirit was probably projecting himself to look like he was sitting on a stump or something sage-like behind him, creepy grin smeared on his face.

              “They will talk about what they saw here, Sans.”

              The argument was old, and quite frankly, like most things involving Gaster, Sans was tired of hearing about it.

              “Let them. I want them to be scared away from here.”

              “Letting them go only spread the word something is out here. More crass fools will come here seeking thrills. You laugh and have fun now, but let me assure you: Someone dangerous will eventually come here and you will regret having laughed at my advice. They will break the mutts and burn you at the stake.”

               He could feel his mood plummeting faster than a child into a mountain. Bringing his hand up and then out as he turned, he growled, “Get lost.”

               Gaster’s creepy smile only grew.

              “Really, Sans? Trying to banish me? You should know by now you’re not near as powerful as that.”

              Truthfully, he hadn’t put any real magic behind the banishment… but it still pissed him off just the same. He’d already tried a hell of a lot more to make Gaster go away these last two years, but ever since finding a way to project himself from the Void Gaster had been an ever-present break to Sans’ bones.

              With a blink, Gaster was suddenly towering over him, his proximity somehow making the air around Sans heavier, more oppressed – the lights grew increasingly darker around him. Gaster’s middle and core were black and obscure, while his outline was transparent. His damn ink smile was stretched to his cracked eye sockets now.

              “You mustn’t ever forget you aren’t normal, that you are gifted unlike others, Sans. Because no one else will ever forget once they realize what you are, and just what you can do. Your appearance has long since stopped reflecting a human form. Do you think burning is a joke? It h u r t s S a n s.”

              Sans almost slipped into the canal behind him, terror seizing him as he felt Gaster’s presence send fear rippling down his spine. Sweat formed on his skull just as he felt his magic rise at the call to his defense – felt Toado, Fetcho, Nono stirring – and he told himself to get offensive to get angry but the fear – the fear of Gaster sending him those nightmares again… The fear was stronger than his desire to fight back, and he unclenched his fists and lowered his gaze to the ground, clutching at his dress instead.

               “S-sorry…”

              The atmosphere grew darker still and Sans couldn’t hide his bones from trembling, but that seemed to be the response Gaster wanted from him. Toado was shuffling in the mud behind him, burbs come from the water, unsure at the mixed messages it was receiving from Sans. He wanted to assure all his familiars that things were okay, that they’d be fine, but he couldn’t even manage to try until Gaster’s pressure abated again.

              “Good. I know best for you, after all. Now, Sans… Next time a human comes… You will kill them.”

              He looked up, startled, but seeing the swirling depths of Gaster’s eyes terrified him – they filled him with images of fire, the smell of soot and ash and dust, and a stricken sense of dread that made him want to vomit. He lowered his gaze again, simply nodding.

              “From now on… Any mortal who dares to enter this swamp… They will learn the consequences of their actions. They will die here, and they will rot here in these murky marshlands for the rest of time.”

              With his message laid clear, Gaster faded into nothingness, leaving Sans nearly unable to stay on his feet now that the oppressive weight on his bones decreased so significantly. His distress was too hard to suppress, and Toado, Fetcho, and Nono trailed lowly toward him, whining softly. In the end, he let his dress drag along the ground at his side as he stumbled toward his favorite nook in the swamp. It was well hidden, and Sans only went there once Gaster disappeared back into the Void to keep this one place stashed away as his sanctuary. Past a thicket of trees, over one fallen log and under another, past a shelter of vines that concealed everything…

              The area was bright unlike the rest of the swamp. The ground under him was completely covered in soft moss that was always mostly dry, and bright bluish-green foxfire light covered everywhere along the trees that concealed this place and the bushes. Just past the middle of his secret coven, a tree stump just over half his size perched, covered in mushrooms. He collapsed against it gratefully, wrapping his arms around part of a limb. His Blasters settled down on the moss, sensing it was about time for them to go.

               This time, Sans couldn’t bare to look at their sad, pleading eyes – they didn’t understand he couldn’t keep them summoned when he was like this. They just knew that he was going to send them away. Their soft whimpers grew too much for him and he called his magic as he felt one of them nuzzle his back. He summoned them away with the sound of three distinct pops, grateful he was already lying down or he surely would have collapsed by then. He always felt weaker, starved and drained, when he was around Gaster. Especially when the spirit was close to him for too long, or angry.

                _You’re alright. He’s gone now. Don’t think about him_.

               The silence left from his familiars stares and soft whines were replaced by the sound of cicadas, a nearby owl, and the sounds of toads in the distance. Here in this place, outside noises were subdued to a melody. He buried his face into his arms along the trunk, listening…

                _I’m not alone… I’m not alone… I’m not alone…_

               He hoped… He hoped if he kept telling himself that for long enough, perhaps one night…

               He would finally believe it.

 

 


	2. Swamptrousle

 

                The rain from the passing thunderstorm was louder than normal. Inside of the Swamptrousle, the echoes of the downpour and the flashing lights of lightening reflected off the cave walls. Normally this place was too hot and humid to stay in for long, but the unbearable heat was pushed back by the cold rains and wind. Even the highly toxic spores and gas that often wafted throughout the chamber was snuffed down to a faint aroma instead of the normal sickly sweet scent that permeated the place. Had he still been human, this place would have killed him rather quickly.

                _I’m glad I’m done with being human._

He’d come to terms with this new form and skeleton body eventually in these last five years, and now it felt like he had never belonged in a human skin to begin with… But on harsh thunderstorm nights like these, he couldn’t help but remember the night he had changed from using too much black magic and the terror and self-hate that had seized him.

                They weren’t… good memories, nothing that followed was a good memory…

                Shaking his head, he shifted in his chair against the cave wall and felt his magic rise and his left eye glow as he summoned Toado, Fetcho, and Nono. These days, he could summon them without incantations or even much concentration – it was as easy as snapping his fingers.

                As his Blasters appeared from the floor and walls out from portals that oozed blood-red mist, they showed their excitement at once by doing what they did best: break things with a hyper enthusiasm. The three-legged spare chair went flying – a stalactite was knocked off the ceiling – and for no reason in particular, Nono headbutted the cave wall nearest to him.

                At once his nerves were put at ease and he could relax, even among the commotion. No, _from_ the commotion. Hearing them thumping around, knocking things aside, the hum in their throats, and even their unintelligible yips and whines and low growls were pleasant and soothing. It reminded him that he wasn’t alone out here.

                He reached over to his sewing kit and grabbed another ripped article of clothing, and placed it along his sleeve to sew it over the new tear. His clothes were little more than rags, with the left portion of his dress was ripped and torn off up to his thigh thanks to Nono in particular, but he wasn’t as concerned about it as he used to be. It wasn’t like he ever had or would have company.

                _Hell, I should probably just start walking naked through the swamp. There’s no out here to stop me, or stare, or to even give a damn._

                The thought was an entertaining one.

                _Heh, I really would look like some old marsh hag then, wouldn’t I?_

He felt something land on his skull, distracting him from his thoughts, and reached up feel something furry scuttling along his head. Laying his hand flat, he felt it crawl across his finger bones and brought it down to look at it. It was a spider, one he wasn’t familiar with. He began to feel anxious.

                “H-Hello there.”

                It had long spindly legs, and two big eyes among its eight. It seemed to be judging him. It only made him more anxious, and he swallowed and tried to start up a polite conversation with it.

                “You, uh… Must have retreated in here because of the rain, right? Normally spiders don’t like this place because of the smell… I bet it’s still pretty strong in here for you, isn’t it bud?”

                He felt like the spider disapproved of him being so familiar with it.

                “O-oh… I mean… M’am.”

                His bones were trembling, and he tugged on the front of his dress self-consciously.

                The spider in his hand started to scutter closer at his motion, and he froze before glancing down his dress, realization slowly dawning.

                “O-oh… Of course. Better protection from the rain and the smell, huh? Smart bug.”

                The spider testily moved one of its legs at him, and he winced as he picked her up and moved her to his dress, slipping his hand down inside by his ribs. He felt her scurry off him hand to walk across his bones, judging him from the inside out. He held perfectly still until she finally settled back by his spine. He thought she seemed satisfied and content, but his anxiety made him question that.

                He withdrew his hand and slowly got back to work on finishing the last few stitches on his sleeve. Some tension was leaving his bones as he focused on the mindless task and babbled.

                “It’s not exactly cozy in there, but uh, you should be warm and the smell should be masked… The others spiders all gave it good approval ratings when they uh, stayed for a bit. Good place to stop and rest.”

                Finishing his stitchwork, Sans glanced up as he watched Nono tackle Fetcho and gnaw on his jaw.

                “ _No. Nono, bad._ Don’t bite your sibling.”

                With the Blaster cowed and the other freed, Sans sighed and got up and walked to the front of the cave for some fresh air, mindful of any places that might drip down on him, or more importantly, down inside his dress where his new resident, and hopefully, new friend resided.

                The rain was letting up now, and the lightening was getting further away. It would probably stop very soon and start up again within the next hour. He could probably take a nice nap between the periods. As soothing as the sounds of rain was to him, they also made his mind too active to even consider sleeping. He lived to sleep for those moments caught between one downpour and the next shower.

                As he was glancing across the swamp and the marshlands, his eyes caught something he hadn’t noticed earlier when he’d hurried inside to avoid the rain. A small oak box, slightly rotten and now soaked through, lay just outside the cave entrance. He recognized it enough to know it was something Gaster had left for him.

                He’d been rather absent the last week, which Sans had been grateful and stressed out about, and knew if he ignored whatever Gaster had managed to put together for him from the Void… He’d be getting a lot less sleep than a measly hour.

                He turned and snapped his fingers twice to get Fetcho’s attention, and pointed out into the rain at the small chest as he commanded, “Fetch.”

                Only too happy to comply with his favorite command, Fetcho hurried out and took an enormous bite out of the earth as he scooped the box up in his long jaws. Bringing it back, he opened his jaws and displayed the box half buried in dirt and mud and earthworms. Reaching in, Sans unburied the box and swept away the worms. Flicking off the dirt, he took it inside and returned to his chair with a short, “Good boy, Fetcho. Very good.”

                The box broke slightly as he opened it, and Sans felt his eyes widen as he saw the rolled-up parchment inside. It was as crimson as human blood – dyed with it in fact – and smelt strongly of sheep skin and a rotten tang. It was without a doubt, a demon contract, even wrapped in a hemp braid full of bone shards.

                Sans hadn’t summoned many demons in his life, but he’d seen Gaster summon some terrifying things years ago. They’d all been large and powerful, and many of them had been vicious – some had even attacked Gaster for summoning them… only to realize what a horrible mistake that had been.

                Before the trio of Blaster familiars he’d started summoning one by one until he could summon them all, Sans had only invoked and séanced spirits of the dead and communicated with them. He’d done so privately of course, sometimes even crookedly, but he guessed all that caution and backstabbing to earn gold and protect himself in the end hadn’t been enough. He’d been “sold” to Gaster to become the man’s “apprentice” unless he wanted to be hung or burned as a witch, and his conjuring of spirits had turned to devil work and demonic practices.

                So on sight, he knew a contract when he saw one, and he’d personally handed and retrieved enough of them because of Gaster’s orders to know he held the contract of someone _powerful_ in his hands. While his Blasters were strong when they worked together, this sort of powerful was entirely different. The contract reeked of a sort of…

                Sans couldn’t find the word, but it was on the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t ancient or primal… It wasn’t malice or hatred… Not envy or disgust either… It frustrated him that he couldn’t identify what emotion he could receive off the parchment. It was too complex to really focus on.

                _Just what have you given me, Gaster… and what do you want me to do with it?_

                Was this about the humans again? He’d secretly been holding onto the hope that Gaster spoke out of rage and nothing more because Sans had gotten defiant toward him, but he should have known better. Whenever Gaster said he had a plan, he followed it out – consequences be damned.

                Sans, unwillingly, turned to glance back at his Blasters. They’d stopped roughhousing a while ago, and were now all cozied up along the floor next to each other, necking. Toado was the only one still awake as Fetcho snored in his sleep, and Nono yipped and snorted in his dreams with his tongue out. But much like its siblings, Toado’s expression was half-glazed and fogged over, and he’d soon fall asleep as well.

                All Sans could remember was Fetcho rushing hurriedly after the fleeing human man from before, eager to show off his collection of sticks and play fetch. The way Nono had gone to play with the woman in the water, and how loudly and happily he’d screeched alongside her, excited at the idea of howling. Then Toado, who was so peaceful that when he saw his or his siblings roughhousing had destroyed a frog’s or toad’s home, he would collect them and try to be their habitat.

                Just the thought of having them be used for purposefully hurting or killing made him sick to his stomach. They may have seemed like terrifying gator demons, but they were nothing more than a couple of untamed mutts. Even back when he’d first summoned one of them and had destroyed his protective circle by accident, he hadn’t been mauled or killed like any other demon would have done to him, if not worse.

                He looked back down at the contract in his lap. Bitterly, he tried to be grateful he had an alternative means at his disposal now, but he couldn’t be. Even if this meant his Blasters would be spared from Gaster’s order to kill any unwary humans who ventured into the swamp, there was still a price that would have to be paid.

                The Blasters only required payment from Sans in the form of his energy. As long as he had energy, he could pay them – could keep them around as long as he wanted, and there weren’t any consequences besides the one solid rule of not letting his magic drain to zero.

                But this demon contract wouldn’t be like that. Demons who were this powerful wouldn’t require his energy… They’d require something more. The stronger they were, the more they demanded. They could demand his life, his soul – which he still wasn’t entirely sure was even his anymore – or any sort of payment that they wanted from him.

                And Sans didn’t want to have to give up anything else for Gaster. Never again.

                His crippling anxiety began to rise inside of him. The rain had almost disappeared, now the quietest drizzle, and even the snores and mutterings of his Blasters couldn’t quite chase away the silence that threatened him. He didn’t _want_ to lose anything else, damn it!

                _By Beltane’s fire, what am I supposed to do now?_

If he didn’t summon the demon and make a contract with it, not only would Gaster likely force him to use his Blaster familiars to kill the next rash human who entered the swamp, but he’d plague him with those… Those horrible nightmares again.

                But if he _did_ summon the demon and make a contract with it… There were so many possibilities of what he could end up losing. They all terrified him.

                A loud blasting boom echoed from the swamp, scaring him into nearly falling out of his chair and causing his familiars to all jolt awake and instinctively open their maws, foggy red beams powering up with a telling thrum. Rocketing out his chair, he ran to them and instantly began to stroke them to calm them down from firing and bringing the cave down on all of them, still rattled himself as he looked out from the entrance. He knew that sound.

                It was the sound of a gunshot from a hunting rifle…

                …and it sounded close.

               

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Witchfell is based on the old lore around black and white witches, being that white witches looked human because they only performed healing magics alongside nature, but black witches turned into hags and monsters for meddling with dark powers, such as demons. So basically Sans was once human but now is a monster in my story. 
> 
> And poor Sans, he's so freaking lonely and company starved that he feel's social anxiety to even talking with spiders. 
> 
> And for those waiting for Papyrus to show up, I promise you, he'll rise shortly c;


	3. Gunshots & Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was browsing Tumblr, and most of my favorite blogs found this cool website that randomly selects a 'class' for you and gives you your level and stats, and I wanted to try it myself and OH MY GOD. Look at what I got on my first try. 
> 
>  Mama Sin-Sin  
> Lv.60 black mage  
> ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯ HP  
> ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯ MP  
> ▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯▯▯ ATK  
> ▮▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯ DEF  
> ▮▮▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯ LCK  
> https://en.shindanmaker.com/618280
> 
> At first I was absolutely ecstatic and almost couldn't even believe fate could be that tricksy, since it made me a high level black mage and I'm writing Witchfell right now. I just KNEW I had to put it down on here and share it. BUT then I looked at my stats, my Magic Power stat in particular!!!!
> 
> What, in the actual ABSOLUTE BULLSHIT is THIS!? You’re telling me I got to be a black mage on my first try, a high level one at level sixty, and I don’t actually have ANY magic!?!?
> 
> WHat the shIT have I been doing to get so strong then!?? I don’t understand!!! Am I just a derpy black mage who gets experience from simply being in a party, or am I actually a cunning phony who uses science and tricks to deceive people into thinking that all this time I was a boss ass witch? Or like, was I super powerful and dependable but I lost my magic to a curse or something…...
> 
> You know what, fine. Accepted. All of these are now accepted. Witchfell’s storyline has been altered to fit this new development, hahaha. Ah, anyway, please enjoy and give it a try yourself if you wanna. I sure have been laughing and raging over mine!

 

                Sans stared out over the swamp from the entrance of his cave for several minutes before he heard the next gunshot go off, confirming his fears that what he had heard truly had been a gunshot, and not just a blast of thunder. He clutched the parchment in his hands, torn between hesitation and fear, before he pushed the scroll up into his sleeve.

                _Gaster’s not here right now…_

If he could scare away the reckless human, make them flee… Then he would have longer to come up with a plan that didn’t involve having to kill anyone. But he’d have to move fast – Gaster didn’t have a definite schedule for when he was likely to drop by and start haunting him again. Still, he’d have to be careful, downright cautious. He couldn’t recklessly endanger himself, not with his weak health… Or his Blasters.

                In fact, he didn’t think they’d understand the danger of the situation at all. Fetcho would probably think a rifle was a stick and that could only end in tragedy. Glancing back over his shoulder at the agitated forms of his familiars, he made up his mind.

                _It’s too dangerous to bring them with me._

Hiking his dress, he hurried from the cave, a last longing look back at his distracted familiars. Already his courage wanted to leave him. He wanted to hide away in his cave with his Blasters, but there was no certainty that would solve anything. He had to be brave.

                As he raced with careful steps through the swamp, his soul begged his mind to come up with a plan desperately. There had to be something he could do… Someway to ward off the foolish human without revealing himself…

                Too quickly the sound of the gunshot firing again came, now no further than a hundred yards from him. Frightened and terrified, he moved to the nearest tree beside him and pressed against the rough bark, glancing around the trunk as he spotted something fast furiously fleeing through the swamp toward him.

                It was moving so quickly that he couldn’t tell what it was, running with the sort of desperation only earned through a genuine fear. Then his eyes heard a log snapping somewhere further back and he saw the figure of a large human man come to a stand-still and raise his rifle into aiming position.

                Several things happened in such quick recession, that Sans couldn’t think about any of them while it was happening. He could only react. His gaze had traveled back to the fleeing creature just as they swerved out from a bush and came into his line of sight – into the gunner’s line of sight. He recognized them for what they were, without a doubt, but his brain couldn’t comprehend what he was witnessing.

                He raised his hand and grabbed a hold of their soul before he realized what he was doing, and threw his arm out, launching them through the air between the trees far to the west as the gun fired. There was a deafening crack, the sound of something whooshing through the air, and an incredibly sharp pain seemed to ricochet from his left eye-socket down to his mouth, causing him to scream and fall backward in the brush beneath him, clutching at his face.   

                _It hurts it hurts IT HURTS **ĦĦʮRŁŧŧŧŧŧşşş**_

                Screaming only seemed to help so much, and he could feel red magic oozing between phalanges and down his bones from his eye socket, and trails of dripping from his chin. There was dust mixed in there – dust stained red… Shaking and horrified, he managed to check himself and his HP.

                _0.6 no- no, 0.- 0.- 0.4…_

He wanted to puke. It was the worse pain he’d ever felt in his life. The heavy thuds of boots echoed closer, and the form of the man from before skid into view.

                “Oh my god, are you o-”

                His voice cut-off into a gasp, and Sans looked up as the man’s fuzzy form stumbled back. He could barely see out of his remaining eye with tears streaming down his face – couldn’t make out the man’s face or appearance beside the hunting cap on his head, the scraggily beard, and brown coat he wore… and the rifle which was quickly hefted in his direction.

                “Wh- What the HELL are you!?”

                Grabbing a hold of their soul as terror seized him, he sobbed, “GET AWAY FROM ME!”

                He flung them without direction, hearing them fly back and slam into a tree trunk with a cry. Still clutching his eye, he crawled away toward the bushes, trying and stumbling half to his feet as he tried to escape, slamming into tree limbs and snaked roots he’d once been so familiar with. Everything was red and everything HURT.

                It felt like his magic was bleeding from him in every direction. The air felt electrified and his soul cried out in pain, making the throbbing wound on his face hurt even worse.

                _Shit, shit, ow, shit, ow, damn it, DAMN IT – I don’t want to I don’t wanna –_

The sound of the rifle going off caused him to trip and stumble over his own feet, and he felt his dress and leggings rip and tear as he tripped and tumbled down an embankment. He felt his ankle twist as he landed at the bottom, gasping out a hoarse scream.

                _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

He felt his health drop another decimal, and clutched at his bruised kneecap and leg in the murky water. Everything was dark and damp with a foot of water, and he couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t stand up, and he knew with a fearsome clarity that he wouldn’t be able to crawl his way out of the canal he’d fall into. He tried to dig and pull himself under the embankment roots and weeds to hide, hissing in pain as quietly as he could.

                The sound of a blasting beam of energy scared him so badly he froze, before realizing by the thrum of magic in the air and the familiar hum that his Blasters were somewhere nearby, howling and firing in a frenzy. A frightened human yell was soon replaced by the sound of returning gunfire.

                _No, no, no, Toado, Fetcho – Nono – LEAVE._

Sans wasn’t able to focus his magic enough to even try to send the command out to them, and in their state, he didn’t think it would have made a difference. He couldn’t bare the thought of his familiars being destroyed. Not his only friends and companions – his only family. _There had to be something he could do!_

The rustle of something against his eye socket caught his attention, and he pulled his hand away to see the contract from before still in his sleeve. So much blood magic covered it that it had been stained an even darker vermillion red.

                Fears of price and payment were lost to blind panic and sheer desperation. With shaky uncoordinated grip and hands, he tore the hemp braid open to release the contract and placed his hand flat against the parchment. There were protection charms to lay, circles to be drawn, words to be spoken, ingredients and offerings to gather and ground to be laid to summon a demon – requirements had to be met – but Sans forgot all the things he’d ever learned and pooled his absolute desperation into the contract with the last of his magic reserves on the line.

                _You can have whatever you want from me – I’ll give you everything – just… come for me!_

The contract against his hand burst into a demonic flame, then evaporated in a sulfurs mist. The swamp waters around him turned crimson, and bones protruded from the water and embankment around him, viciously sharp. A figure formed in front of him from the water and bone, growing taller and taller until the unmistakable form of a very pissed and very annoyed skeleton demon appeared before him, turning the waters he now waded in back to swamp.

                “ _Who in their soon to be DAMNED mind summoned The Demonic Papyrus in a DAMNED swamp_.”

                Sans could barely make out his form, shuddering and still clutching at his eyes, but it looked like the demon held a white mutt in one of his hands, clutched and hanging at the collar, as if he’d been attempting to walk a dog before rudely being summoned.

                Somehow, through his fear, Sans felt a hysterical giggle try to rise in him at the thought, and became aware he was becoming delirious. He was about to lose consciousness or die – couldn’t tell which, and somehow that made his giggling sobs want to resurface – but another fire of gunshots and the demon suddenly scowling and lifting an eye socket reminded his starved mind about why he’d summoned the demon in the first place.

                “Pl-please… stop him… Blasters… hurt…”

                The skeleton demon glared down at him, a haughty look of disapproval on his face.

                “Summon me only to beg? Pathetic, though not unexpected.”

                It looked like the demon couldn’t see him clearly with all the roots in the way, as he materialized what appeared to be a wickedly jagged sword made from a spine. With one slice, Sans felt the numerous roots and weeds obscuring him fall from his face. The blade had come right up against his hand, but hadn’t cut him.

                He felt himself losing consciousness as he listed to the side. The demon squatted before him, his expression doing something strange that Sans couldn’t recognize. He desperately reached out for him though, as he heard Fetcho growl out in pain as another shot rang out.

                “You… You’re-”

                “Pl-…”

                He couldn’t finish the word, but he heard the noise of something dropping and splashing into the water with a yelp as a hand seized him by the front of his dress and lifted him from the ground. He couldn’t support his hand and it dropped away from his face, just as surely as he felt the last of his consciousness slip away at the sudden movement.

                Everything went dark.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll show what Papyrus is wearing in the next update. I didn't feel like it fit the mood to describe him when Sans was in so much pain and growing delirious.
> 
> Oh and poor Sans, this skelly had a Bad Time. >:


	4. Bound & Snared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, out of all the different things I looked at I kept coming back to Devil May Cry-esque attire as inspiration for what I had pictured Papyrus was wearing, especially because in Witchfell he doesn't have a scarf but a slightly tattered crimson duster instead.  
> http://img.vip.alibaba.com/img/wsproduct/20/36/78/20/2036782007_1.jpg
> 
> Also, for anyone and everyone who has given me a kudos and especially those who commented so far, wowie, thank you all so much for being so kind and awesome! It's really wonderful to get nice comments, and I love getting messages about people telling me what their favorite scene was or wondering about what's next <3 
> 
> These things... They fill me with INSPIRATION.

 

                There was a throbbing pressure over his left eye socket when he felt his consciousness returning. He shifted weakly against the ground, surprised by the few short twigs digging into his back. Normally he kept his moss bed pretty clean, but…

                _Ugh…_

Dizziness swept through him, making him groan and mutter a quiet curse under his breath. The pressure against his eye socket grew, and he reached out to pull and tug away whatever weight had settled over him. Only, a hand seized his wrist. He conjured his eye lights instinctively before pain blindsided him into a moan.

                Pain renewed panic in him, and he began to thrash and push at whoever was knelt at his side, but each attempt was effortlessly either pushed back or evaded all together. Definitely not for the first time, Sans cursed how he’d been born with such a weak body, both as a human and now in this form.

                “Be still.”

                The grip on his wrist and hand increased, as did the pressure applied to his skull. It felt like a large hand was pushing his head into wet moss under him.

                _What…? Who?_

He shifted further, confused and hurting from the backlash of his magic painfully stinging his eyes. He tried to pull his hand free from whoever had ahold of him, but the grip was unyielding and didn’t give an inch of wiggle room.

                “ _Be still._ ”

                “Ow.”

                The warning squeeze made him still, and he stopped trying to conjure his eye lights. The pain was _splitting_ , and he was afraid moving and trying to use his magic only made it worse. A fear was beginning to rise inside of him and nestle in his ribcage, but he told himself to remain calm and complacent. Even if his body hurt like this, he needed to keep his wits.

                Whoever had ahold of him hadn’t killed him yet, so that was good. Sans dug his free hand into the ground under him, gently scraping at the moss and leaves under him, trying to judge by its dampness where he might be in the swamp. He listened attentively, or attentively as he could with a pounding headache, and reminded himself to _relax._

                He tried to remember the last thing that had happened. Hazy memories of thunder briefly entered his mind, before he remembered the sound of a gunshot. Unfriendly memories from earlier started pouring in as he continued to feel around his body as obscurely as he could. Nothing useful around him to grab.

                Cicadas were singing again, as were frogs off in the marsh. It was late, then. He’d left the cave to… To go after the human in the swamp and scare them away when… When he saw them, the little one, and then there was the man with the gun… The gunshot, followed by splitting pain.

                _That must be why I hurt so bad. I must have gotten shot._

The pain was concentrated on the front of his face, however, not in the back of his skull. With luck, that meant it hadn’t blasted clean through his skull, and had probably… Struck him as it flew by. Maybe. He was having a hard time recalling exactly where the man had been standing when he’d fired.

                He shifted his legs and felt a fading ache in his kneecap, and on the same leg, something thick bundled against his ankle. The memory of falling into a small ravine-like canal came to mind, and then at the sound of rough cloth dragging slightly along the ground when the unknown man moved made him recall his fear-stricken summoning of a demon he knew absolutely nothing about.

                …along with the memory of his Blaster familiars.

                Shifting, he frowned slightly as he concentrated on gathering small bits of magic, tiny particles. He just needed enough to check if they were there. He’d found ways to keep them conjured even when he had fallen asleep before, but dozing and losing consciousness weren’t the same.

                _Please, please let them be alright…_

It was frightening just how slowly gathering enough energy to simply _check_ if he could still summon them was. But the instant relief of feeling them, eagerly noticing him and awaiting to be summoned nearly made him break down into sobs. He shuddered, releasing a shaky breath.

                Using the little magic he’d gathered and his reserves, he focused on his right eye instead of his left. It took a moment, but his sight faded back in slowly and refocused after hazily observing the form crouched at his side. When he took in what he was looking at, his breath hitched and he could barely believe what he was seeing.

                A tall skeleton demon stood crouched over him. He was dressed in a red duster with cross bone latches, with a dark sweater underneath with three belts wrapping around him. A larger belt buckle was just below two of them, with an engraved sculpture that looked oddly like his Blasters, but more fierce and with larger and more curved horns.

                Sans’ eyes traveled up to his face, where the demon’s expression was somewhere between mildly displeased and stoic. He bore two odd near identical dark scars running down his cheekbones and jawline – or they were painted on – he couldn’t tell for sure in this lighting, not when his eye was still so weak.

                “You’ve woken, I see.”

                Part of Sans – that part of him that always fell back on humor when he didn’t know what else to do – laughed softly with a grunt. The frowning look he received in response made him stutter, “Heh-heh… Was a… pun.”

                “You are strange.”

                Sans tried not to start trembling. The fact he’d summoned this demon without any sort of protection or defense in mind was painfully obvious, just as obvious as the fact he literally would not be capable of even putting up a good struggle if he needed to.

                The demon was staring at him with the sort of intensity that Sans wasn’t familiar with, as if he was intently waiting for something. For what, Sans doubted he would ever be able to guess… But he knew he needed to. He wracked his aching mind for the demon’s name, trying to unravel it from the fall and the jumbled mess in his head.

                _It started with a Pa… What was it… Pal? Pat? Pap?_

He hedged, “Pap…yrus?”

                An odd expression caught on the demon’s face, one Sans thought might have looked strangely… anxious? He wasn’t sure if that was the right word. He hadn’t seen someone’s face up close besides Gaster’s in two years or so – maybe longer. He wasn’t as good at judging things as he used to be. But since nothing bad seemed to come from tentatively saying his name, he went on cautiously.

                “That’s what you said… your name was, right?”

                Immediately the demon’s face went back to that displeased slate it had earlier, and Sans wondered at the roughness in his voice when he sharply said, “Yes, that’s correct.”

                Had he made him angry? The thought filled him with dread.

                “I’m… I’m Sans.”

                “Of course you are.”

                He flinched at the continued sharp tone in Papyrus’ voice, wondering uneasily if he’d already given his name. He couldn’t remember saying it. He opened his mouth to stutter something, anything, but Papyrus suddenly released his eye socket and drew his hand back.

                “Don’t try to conjure your eye light. Your magic isn’t stable enough because of your injury.”

                _Injury…?_

Dread filled him as he brought his hand up and touched the area, instantly hissing in pain and drawing his hand back. He moved his fingers closer again, this time gently prodding the area. He could tell he’d cracked something. Papyrus stood up and stepped away from him, turning and crossing his arms as he surveyed the swamp around them with an intense scrutiny.

                Taking this as a chance to move, he rolled onto his side and then pushed himself to his knees. He shuffled forward to look down into a nearby puddle. There was enough light from the moon to see his reflection, and he couldn’t help but stare at it in stupefaction. Only one red-violet eye socket looked back at him. The other was dark.

                His eye socket had been cracked near diagonally. The top had a short and catted point on the outside of the socket, while just inside a two-inch crack spotted downward from his socket… Slowly, he brought his hand down to touch his fangs, where one along the top was missing now. It must have been knocked out because of the impact.

                _The bullet must have ricocheted… If it had hit me directly, it would have killed me._

His once already inhuman expression had only grown uglier.

                _Heh… I should be thankful though. I’m alive. That’s all that matters._

Or well, almost all that mattered. He turned on his knees to look at the demon, who was glancing back at him. He didn’t know why the demon had given him these moments but he felt like they would soon run out. The demon must have kept him alive to finish collecting payment for his services…

                Which brought two immediate questions to his mind he couldn’t believe he hadn’t asked yet. Well, three anyway.

                “Did you heal me?”

                Now that he was thinking about it, it was the only thing that made sense of why the demon had kept him pinned down and his hand over his eye socket. To keep him from being destroyed. Though the fact he hadn’t been able to tell the demon had even _been_ using magic on him confirmed his fears. If it came down to it, Sans doubted he’d even be able to use the most basic of magics in his state.

                “Hmph.”

                Fisting his dress, he felt his anxiety rise as the demon faced him, scowling. He wanted to get his questions asked and answered, delay the inevitable – if even for a few more moments.

                “Did you scare away the human?”

                Papyrus snorted at him, a dark chuckle in his voice.

                “If by scared, you mean scared him into a damned grave.”

                The news the human was dead should have shaken him more, he thought. Instead it only filled him with dread and an unsettled sense of ease. His expression seemed to displease the demon, because Papyrus’ chuckle died off abruptly and he scowled again. He hurried and blurted out his last question.

                “Was… Was there anyone else?”

                The question was hard to get out, because Sans didn’t want an answer, not really. Not if it was a bad one.

                “Was there supposed to be?”

                A tiny spark of relief settled in his bones at Papyrus’ idle response. He could now clearly remember the small furiously fleeing child he’d seen racing toward him. Or more accurately, just simply racing toward his direction. He could still barely believe his memory when he’d seen the mossy-topped hair child running away from a man trying to shoot them. They couldn’t have been very old, and even so, they’d almost been murdered. That was one reason he didn’t miss being human.

                Humanity sucked.

                _I hope… I hope I didn’t fling them too hard. And I sincerely hope they were smart enough to know better than to stick around here._

A sudden rustling in the bushes behind him caused him to screech and twist away, disbelief and fear warring as he pictured the child from before suddenly stepping through the foliage until he saw the white dog from earlier come trotting out and toward him. As it put his two paws on Sans’ knees, the pup yipped, tail wagging lowly behind him.

                He was sure the dog was demonic as well, much like his Blasters, but it had been so long since he’d seen a dog or felt fur of any kind that he couldn’t help but reach out to stroke it once it was in his reach. It gave him a moment of comfort.

                Papyrus suddenly strode toward him, towering over both of them. Sans could feel his sins crawling along his spine. He released the dog and squeezed his dress tightly, hunching lower defensively.

                Papyrus seemed to pause whatever he was about to say, expression momentarily confused before he glared down at the dog that was now pawing at his hands and licking his jaw. Whatever he was about to say, he changed his mind and instead refocused on him, red-violet gaze fierce.

                “You summoned me. How.”

                Sans was caught off guard. That hadn’t been the question he’d been expecting.

                “What?”

                “How. Did you. Summon. Me.”

                Shaking, he clutched the dog close to his chest as he stuttered, “Your- Your contract… I used your contract.”

                “My contract? Where is it?”

                “It… It disappeared when you… appeared?”

                Papyrus was testily tapping his fingers against his crossed arms, darkly looking out over the swamp as if it had personally offended him. He muttered something under his breath before fixing him with a glare again.

                “No damn matter. I’ll sort it out later.”

                Papyrus’ expression changed again, this time becoming nearly a smile, but not a pleasant one.

                “I’ve been summoned. By you. And I heard your desire. You promised me anything and _everything_ when you evoked me. Now I’m here for it.”

                Panic seized him as he hurried to say, “I- I wanted to make a _contact_.”

                A contract meant time, which meant life.

                “You only told me to _come._ I have come, and I have killed your enemy. I have also kept you alive. Surely you don’t plan to try and go back on what you promised me.”

                Fear seized him at the half-veiled threat, but not as much as the weight of his actions. No matter what, he couldn’t regret them. He hadn’t even been _able_ to explain what he had wanted from the demon, and the demon had still delivered and done extra. Because of Papyrus, his Blasters were alive. He was alive.

                _Even if I’m afraid… A deal is a deal, no matter how vague._

He’d ignored every rule of dealing with demons, and now it was only justice that he would pay the price of his actions.

                He bowed his head, clutching a hand against his chest as he shook his head.

                “N-no… I know what I promised.”

                “Good. Because I’m here to collect.”

                Papyrus stepped closer and grabbed his jaw, forcing him to rise to his knees and look up at him as the demon studied him from above, a satisfied smirk on his face.

                “You promised me everything, so everything you have and everything you are is _mine_ now. From tonight on, your life belongs entirely to me. “

                A slave, then. That was what the demon desired. Sans couldn’t even barter the term, as desperately as he did try to think of a loophole. _Everything_ was an all-encompassing word.

                “Hand me your soul.”

                Sans felt his breath hitch, and winced as Papyrus squeezed his jaw when he didn’t immediately comply. Slowly and hesitantly he withdrew his reddish-purple soul and Papyrus let go of his jaw to reach out and clutch it in his hand. The sensation was rough, and so unused to having anyone else handle it, he couldn’t keep a cry of shock down in his throat. Papyrus did little more than glance at him before refocusing on his soul.

                A thin webbed dark red net settled over the upside down heart, the center forming an inverted pentagram. His soul was instantly restrained inside of it, the darker red visible against his fluttering soul. Sans could only gasp, clutching one hand tightly to his chest and the other having to hold the ground below him so he wouldn’t collapse down onto it.

                It felt as if his soul was going to be squeezed and grated, and there was nothing he could do about it. He could only bare the pain of feeling his soul be restrained and caged with someone else’s magic. His bones shuddered and his marrow stirred, and just when Sans was certain he was going to collapse the sensation finally ebbed, and the snare across his heart vanished. He could finally pant and breathe again, but not for a second was he fooled.

                Just because he couldn’t see it there didn’t mean he didn’t still feel it lingering, didn’t understand his soul and life was now bound to the demon before him. The implications that his life was literally out of his own hands now made him want to cry. But now wasn’t the time for tears, he had to hold… He had to hold them back the best he could.

                Papyrus released his soul and Sans gratefully returned it back to his body, holding himself protectively right afterwards. Papyrus’ expression was stoic as he observed him, so much so Sans wondered if perhaps he was made out of stone and not bone. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he hadn’t received any warning at all and these years had made his soul incredibly fragile and sensitive. His nerves were on edge.

                “From now on, you shall summon me when _I_ command it and obey my every command. You will know when I wish to be summoned, and this binding will make it more efficient than preparing a ritual for my arrival each time. Though I still expect offerings.”

                Offerings made him feel sick, as he recalled the twisted rituals he’d read and had been forced to handle because of Gaster’s orders years ago.

                “What… What ki-kind of offerings?”

                His disgust must have shown on his face because Papyrus stared at him for several moments before a haughty smirk appeared on his face.

                “I will instruct you as I see fit.”

                There was something dangerous in those words, something that made Sans clutch himself tighter. The dog on his leg seemed unbothered by the tense air around him, self-assured expression on his canine face. Papyrus took notice of him as well, his smirk growing slightly.

                “Since Nass seems fond of you, he shall now remain here to watch over you. It would do me no good for you to get destroyed or try to break our contract while I’m away.”

                Sans eyed the hell-hound. It didn’t seem bothered at all that Papyrus planned to abandon it here, and was instead focused on sniffing at his dress.

                “Now that our contract has been made, it is time for me to go. Rest and gather your strength again. I will require your invocation to appear here when I wish to return, witch.”

                When he didn’t say anything, Papyrus glared at him.

                “Am I understood?”

                Startled, he nodded, having been so unused to conversation he hadn’t realized Papyrus had even wanted an answer out of him.

                “Y-yes.”

                Papyrus continued to stare at him. Something was running through the demon’s mind as he calculated something in his head. Sans wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

                “Master.”

                “Wh-what?”

                “From now on, address me and answer me with the title of Master.”

                Swallowing his pride meant little to him. If it meant he’d be able to peacefully get this ordeal over with, he’d do it. Though he wished it didn’t feel so embarrassing to call someone ‘Master’ again.

                “Y-yes… M-Master.”

                “Good.”

                The ground at the demon’s feet turned crimson and a few stray bones protruded from the ground as Papyrus  sunk into it. He watched Sans until the very moment he disappeared with a sulfurous wisp left in his wake.

                As soon as he was gone, Sans let his shoulders hang and covered his eye sockets as he sobbed into his wrists. The stress of the situation was getting to him, and he didn’t think he could take anything else right now.

                The dog, or Nass as Papyrus had called him, tugged on sleeve hard enough to force his hand away, and he blinked tiredly at the dog, having to turn his head slightly to look at him. The reminder he’d have to adjust to only being able to see with one eye for a while, if not permanently, threatened to send him back into tears again but Nass started lapping at his jaw.

                The unexpected affection made him happy, and he tried to not cry and focus on the dog instead. Even if it was now a means of spying on him, the realization he could actually pet and hold a dog again made up for that. He squeezed him for comfort.

                “H-heh… L-looks like you’re my new r-roommate… I uh, I hope…. *sniff* you’ll be kind to me.”

                “ _Yip._ ”

                “Hehehe…”

                Nass didn’t look like he would be a handful, and when he recovered his magic Sans looked forward to introducing him to his Blasters. In fact, simply being with his Blasters felt comforting enough to make him at least try and dry his eyes, much to the pup’s delight.

                _It’s okay… I can’t worry about the future. I shouldn’t do that. I just… I just need to take things as they come, like I always have. It wasn’t like things could get worse for me tonight._

                “ ** _Sans_**.”

                A chill went up his spine, and without looking back, he knew who’d materialized behind him. Try as he might, he could feel his last unstable resistance give. Tears started pouring from his sockets.

                Not even Nass could stop them now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Witchfell Sans continues to have a Bad Time. My poor deprived baby. Also, I like the idea that instead of Sans just having red magic, he has red and purple tinted magic. I think its more alluring, or at least it is in my head.


	5. For My Readers

 

          This update has been later than expected, but I went through and edited my older chapters and am working on the next chapter now, so it should be out sometime today or tomorrow! Sorry for the long wait <3

**Author's Note:**

> I am @luna-sin-sin on Tumblr, and run a nsfw blog where I post my writing from inspiration I get from Undertale artwork. *Please* don't follow me if you're a minor. 
> 
> Love what I do? Wanna support me make more fanfiction? I now have a Ko-fi page if you'd like to be my patron and donate! And as thanks, I'd be more than happy to write you a fanfiction of your OTP or favorite characters interacting as a thank you, and put it in my Merci series as a gift fic to you <3 
> 
> https://ko-fi.com/lunasi


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